too bad
by inpatient
Summary: In which from flowers came a fearful disease, monsters were put to blame, and a single fallen child came to be their salvation. This is the story of Understrain, the BAD and a demon taken hostage by what was once an old friend. Understrain AU. Contains graphic depictions of violence, death, sickness, trauma, self harm and severe abuse, please take care reading. Charisk, slow-burn.
1. 1

_Long ago, two races ruled over Earth: humans and monsters._

Monsters were very much hidden before they slowly trickled into the culture of man, over the course of several centuries, painfully aware that their presence was one unwelcome and feared in what were just stories. Their attempts at integration only proved futile. Modern society could only grow so uneasy with the comparison of these monsters to animalistic qualities, many taking such natural forms, and their use of magic. Masterful magic so strong it overpowered the people. The humans were terrified, even as their children lived peacefully among their pups and kits and hatchlings. Segregation ensued, at first too subtle for the monsters to have noticed, then actions were taken to ensure both races were torn far apart. Violent actions.

Lynchings occurred. Newborns were easily culled. Jealousy and anger erupted within their communities and those who fought back at all were silenced with death. Becoming still and quiet and forgotten, the monsters departed and housed themselves in forsaken rural towns, next to toxic waters, in desperate poverty. Rotting wood and moss-blanketed stones piled into miserable houses.

Ghetto-like circumstances occurred, in which human officers patrolled their unpaved 'roads' every half hour, blood-curdling cries heard in the dead of the night, with the rest having no choice but to ignore them. Another body would be found each morning with a gunshot wound, and buried in a graveyard that couldn't help but grow. Another tabloid slipped into each mailbox, warning of monster dangers. Those who were daring or clueless enough to have crossed into unofficial 'human' territories were assassinated.

There was once a large monster population in an urban city next to Mt. Ebott. A thick green forest surrounded their small-scale neighborhood, the cut-off between the monster's way of life and that of the human. Their youth ran through the flora and trampled on leaves, the beauty of their natural border wrapping them up in memories that let them forget the way their mothers and fathers were pulled into cars and beaten and dropped off a mile away to bleed. Vengeful adults were wary of the forest, but there hadn't been any trouble in the leaves as of yet, only through the highway that brought frequent shooters into the monster habitat.

To the right side of the forest was the beautiful side full of flowers and birds and portions of the grass warmed by the sun. Willow trees hung like the desolate and showered onto the heads of kiddos underneath. A bush of roses has sprung recently, a lovely red bunch in full bloom well known to the monsters and picked at by florists and suitors alike. A Gyftrot bit into the prickly cane of one such rose, and outstretched by the plant she lies, the destroyed flower dropped and scattered onto the dirt. Her eyes glazed over, a petal stuck in between her teeth.

The son of a Whimsun flew above a collection of pines and maples, letting himself glide downwards onto the forest ground with a graceful landing. An assortment of tangerine hues tinging the perfect sky. Nobody could take away the sky, not the clouds or sun or moon, not the wind or stars, no matter how hard they tried. The sky was there for all. He was the first to encounter the second rosebush, just as red and yet so much brighter, bigger than its counterpart. Around it was a big ring and a patch of dirt in the grass, like the forest itself was running away from it. He knew he just had to bring one to his mother, they were just so pretty. They moved the Whimsun child to joyful tears, a droplet plummeted to the ground with a _pat_ as his antennae drooped.

He grasped the long stem of a single rose and slowly ripped it away from the rest, only for a thorn to become embedded in his thumb. The sting made him wince. He shook his fingers wildly and plucked it out, throwing it backwards. He took great care not to scratch himself with the stem again between his two hands, his translucent wings carrying him back home to his mum. Their brick shack looked like it could barely keep itself up, and a single rocking chair stood on the porch, splintered on the back from when it was thrown by a vandal.

His weeping mother liked to paint, and hung even her failures on the walls. She didn't like to waste the paint. Her palettes were full of colour in a gray home. He debated whether it would be a good choice to present to her that vibrant red flower after all, but he soon raised his hand as she turned to face him. She was only allowed a fleeting moment to smile at her son, whose eyes rolled back with the unmistakable crack of a soul breaking apart. Only soon after her dying son bled in her arms had she already become infected as well, the rose brushing against her.

They were not the only monsters to die that day, and it didn't take long for what struck down patient zero to reach the humans. That is when the alarm bells first rung. Hospitals were so full that the gurneys were forced to unload in the lobby, in the parking lot, anywhere they could dump and dump and dump a rising body count. Their veins were inflamed like they were trying to break away from the skin, losing blood through flowers that grew out of every orifice, suffocating in stems and blooms and their own fluids. Gangrenous finger stumps sprouting. By the time first responders could get to them, they were no longer moving.

A quarantine was put in place, for none other than the monsters, for 'researchers' had come to the conclusion that the Whimsun case was only pointing towards toxicity found in monster blood that led to the current epidemic. This became dubbed the bestia-affective disease, shortened to bestia or the BAD. The symptoms, of which included rapid dehydration, itching that drove victims to scratching until their fingernails split and sleepless behaviors directed their findings to a parasitic cause. Yet the feverish body aching, malaise, vomit and shock was more congruent to a viral hemorrhagic fever. It was decided unanimously that the monsters were to be sent underground to Mt. Ebott until 'the BAD can run its course'. Nobody was stupid enough to believe that was anything other than dooming them to certain death, but their protests did absolutely nothing to help and they were forced down the mountain anyways.

It was far too late when petri dish rose samples were proven to be the culprits, as hysteria had already spread farther than the results would go, and the continuous historical pinning of problems onto the scapegoat race had only led to it becoming cemented as this strain of monster disease even through its name. Bushes were burned, florists left their positions, but all to no avail. The people would die by the side of their nemeses, cast away to where nobody would see them. A new form of banishing arose in which the community's unwanted would be pushed into the monster quarantine to become ill. Several children were lost this way, nowhere to be found.

A determined eighth fell into Mt. Ebott one day.


	2. 2

A flowerbed cushioned the fall of a child no older than eleven one summer afternoon. Their small, sun-kissed figure had curled in place, frightened before the stunning sting of hitting the ground had softened into something more tolerable. Roses blanketed the gravel underneath them once they'd pulled their shuddering arms out from a crossing near their chest and planted their hands by the flowers to hold themselves up. Disoriented, filthy, they hadn't come to the realization of such a landing in particular until they stood, brushing off a striped sweater and bandaged legs caked in dirt. Slant eyes like almonds widened in horror, lashes fluttering about before turning back to run.

They came across something quite strange, only minutes afterwards. Was it a sunflower, or a really big buttercup? One of which had mutated, sharing the stem, stamens and close to half the petals belonging to that of a red rosebud, and in the middle was the white androecium that bore a smiling face. The vibrant crimson was one so rich it took a moment to look for the consistent drip-dropping of blood that poured down the pedicel, a stringy, fleshy object that hung off from behind that they swore almost resembled part of an eye.

"Howdy!"

Startling little Frisk, they let out a yelp and a jump before they inched their knees up to the abdomen, crouched on the ground with an uneasy look on their face. In that moment, they got the urge to check themselves out for scrapes or any thorns that might be sticking out, in case of disease. They were in the clear. Probably. They turned to look at this... _Thing_, some sort of monster. They haven't seen monsters around in a very long time, slowly taking in the gravity of what presently stood before them.

"I'm Flowey! Flowey the Flower! And you're new to the Underground, aren'tcha?" That monster, Flowey, its smile was too much. Its... _'His'_ smile, was something the child couldn't come to fully trust, not with Flowey having opened his mouth to speak again, "Welcome! You're always welcome down here! 'Cause you're a friend, _riiiiiight_?"

Frisk didn't say a word. Their eyes had narrowed in suspicion, the child awfully tense and suspecting. Of what, they were not yet sure, but it was likely that Flowey was up to no good. Grown-ups always talked like that. _'Friend'_. Everybody just wanted to get their way. Maybe Flowey wasn't all grown yet, who knows, he was a monster, after all. But a rose, even part of one, he must know he's supposed to be the bad guy, right?

"... Golly! You must be so confused, well, I'm sure I can clear thing up for ya real quick. Just get a little bit closer... "

The child was rightfully hesitant, before quickly they gently shuffled forwards and witnessed a gloomy blanket of black envelope the scene, terrifically unsettling to Frisk. They did not want to be here, but they had no choice. Their heart beat straight out of their chest, or was it just their spinning head getting the best of them? No, there really was that little red shape, just to the front of their body, with its colour illuminating the square box that kept the pair within the clutches of the realms. They had never seen such a thing, it must have been magic. Eyes glued to the glow, Flowey huffed, scraping his leaves against the gravel with a dry, raspy sound, with a twitch drawn out from Frisk. Full attention had now been returned to the monster, right where he'd wanted it.

"See that? That's your SOUL! The very culmination of your being! You've heard of the happy little quarantine happening in the Underground, haven'tcha?" Referencing such tragedy, coming from a rose, half a rose, it rendered the kid's chest thumping with unease, pins and needles bristling about their skin. So suspicious, so disquieted was young Frisk that their jittery, overstrung body threatened to scatter about with Flowey's continuation, "You know, I've got the cure!"

Frisk blinked past their impatient tension, in place of it, simply tilting their head to the right in puzzlement. They gently hugged their insecurity, like ice water had been poured down their sweater, falling onto delicate skin with a splash of spice. Salt in the wound that elicited a careful, agitated jerk out from one wrist. "Huh?"

"That's right! With the help of a few bu-... Friendliness pellets! " A collection of shapes, much like seeds, darted through the box in jagged, erratic motions, though most had clear direction ordered towards the nervous child, who felt dizzy with worry and distrust. "Go on, run about, gather as many as you can! Don't let a single one get away!"

They did not gather the friendliness pellets. They didn't even go near the things, whizzing by their neck in what they considered a very close call. They took a nervous step back, raising their apprehensive fists in a protective stance. This solicited a reaction from the bewildered Flowey, struggling and sputtering for a moment, before he regained his composure and spoke of encouragement, "You missed them, you know! Go ahead, I'll give ya one more shot, c'mon!"

The pellets flurried through the air, with Frisk having bent over, with their knees buckled there underneath, in order not to have to touch a single one. There was no cure, there couldn't be, and what would a cure have served to Frisk, a perfectly healthy little kid?

"You're not all that bright, are ya, buddy? Go on. Run into the bullets!"

All the more doubtfully did Frisk turn to dodge this time, and with that, Flowey's face contorted. Frightful, frowning, writhing and rotting and sharp with fangs impossibly sheathed from what was just a flower. _Just a flower, huh?_ Frisk couldn't help but chuckle in irony even as their body was taken into the merciless grasp of a couple of vines, thorns so dramatically large, geometric horrors in which one's resulting interaction could probably be disembowelment, were they to pike through just the right place. Like an ice pick through the stomach. Tightening, twisting the little one up into a bunch, like a boa constrictor.

"You idiot! Hahah! In this world, don't you know it's kill or be killed?"

And with that came the ruckus of a circling of the seeds, sharp with hatred, surroundings thinning out for the child that had seemingly run fresh out of luck. Their eyes having already been creased could only shut tighter and tighter, awaiting who knows what sort of sting the things could pack. Of course, the real danger would be infection. Not even the terror of previous strangulation, of a stabbing could have ever pushed back against the fear of disease. They'd come face to face with what plagued their society day after day. To know that a similar fate could await poor Frisk out of what was childish error, it was too cruel.

Though just as soon as it began, it was all over, with Flowey having been knocked to the ground in a moment's disgrace, quickly scurrying about the rocks, discarded stem just scraping right by. With the tilting to their head did a curious sight catch their eye. A young one, not that much taller, nor much different at all, really. A face blackened and caked with dirt. Grime, frustration. Sweater striped just once over, parroting yellow and a sort of colouring to the collar reminiscent of forestry. Threaded hair, straightened, couldn't have been much thicker than sheets of caramel.

The right eye socket barren and bloodied, Flowey nestled himself into the eerie crevice within his unwelcome bloom, lacking conscience, caution, care as with trailing after in a prickly defiance, bringing about only the quietest manner of pained, patterned blinking. Frisk couldn't keep looking at such pain, not without nausea slinking by the sludge stuck to their throat. The bystander effect, awaiting only somebody, anybody else. _Help this child._ But nobody came.

"What a terrible creature, torturing such poor, innocent youth...!"

_...Now what?_


End file.
